Come Wander With Me

"Sweet thing," he coos as he descends onto you, hot lips on your neck. "My darling girl."

"Please," is all you supply as an answer.

The fragility in your voice makes him take you harder—as if, perhaps, that might be enough to answer your pleas (when really, all your weak, juvenile heart desires is an answer to the insecurities festering within—festering long before you met him).

Take me away, you wish to cry.

Love me, you want to say.

Let me be enough for you.

And when at last your lovemaking is over and Erwin tugs you against his chest in practiced familiarity, you feel his breath settle into easy sleep. There, as he dreams, you watch his ring glisten against your breast in the moonlight.

And in those moments, you're left to wonder:

“Hmmm…good question,” Mahito responds. “Maybe nothing. She would continue to work for us and eventually pay off the debt, I suppose. We’d hate to lose such a good doctor. And yet…”

Mahito flicks his cigarette butt into the street, his words lingering in the cold night air. “...I do recall something similar happening a few years ago. A father was working with his son who was a boxer. They rigged matches and made a good bit of money. But they didn’t realize that the money they earned was ours in the first place.” Mahito lights another cigarette, takes a long drag, and then smiles as the smoke seeps from his mouth and nose. “They learned their lesson.”

“We weren’t rigging matches,” Choso responds, his voice tense.

“Is that so? That’s not how the boss sees it.” He raises an eyebrow and smirks as he takes another drag. “I wonder if Miss Doctor could stitch up wounds with two fingers missing.”

Without thinking, Choso grabs the lapels of Mahito’s expensive-looking suit jacket.

“You’re not going to lay a hand on her.”

Mahito just laughs. “No? Then what about your brothers? Are they enjoying that fancy prep school they’re in? Be a shame if something happened to them..”

Choso tightens his grip on Mahito, his eyes wild. “You fucking asshole. I’ll kill you first.”

He could easily beat Mahito to a pulp and leave him to bleed out on the side of the street. In this part of town, nobody would even bat an eye.

But he knows that would just make things worse than they already are. He loosens his grip as Mahito pushes him away. For a moment, Mahito’s sinister smile flashes to an angered scowl, but his usual composure returns as he straightens his jacket.

“Her welfare and your brothers’ futures all depend on you, Choso. Are you going to be the hero of their story?”

——

“Nii-san, are you gonna be a good guy or a bad guy?”

Choso stops stirring the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove and turns to look at his pink-haired little brother, Yuji.

“What do you mean?”

Yuji holds up the shiny red boxing gloves Choso had placed on the table. He slips them on and gives a few punches to the air.

”You need to be some kind of character, don’t you? So people will know whether to cheer or boo for you,” he replies between punches.

”That’s wrestling, you idiot,” the middle-brother, Eso, says, keeping his eyes squarely on the television as he watches a show with his other brother, Kechizu. “You’re so dense.”

Yuji’s frowns at Eso. “It can be for boxing too!” he defends before looking over at his big brother. “And you’re gonna be a hero, right? With a special punch!” He punches the back of Eso’s head.

”Hey! Don’t mess with those, they’re brand-new!”

Choso grabs the gloves and Yuji before Eso decides to retaliate.

“I don’t know what kind of fighter I’ll be,Yuji. I’ll just be…myself.”

Yuji wiggles out of Choso’s grip and gets in a fighting stance, throwing a few light punches against Choso’s side. “You’ll defend those that need help! You’ll curse all evil-doers!”

”He’s not a superhero, idiot!” Eso yells out before putting Yuji in a headlock. The pink-haired boy screams and flails until Choso brings them both down to the ground with a thud.

“Shut up! I’m trying to watch Ultraman!” Kechizu yells out, running toward the others and jumping directly into the action. All four start laughing uncontrollably as each tries to pin the other down.

“Choso! Choso! Choso!” the young brothers yell out between laughs.

—---

“Choso!” you moan his name, digging your fingernails into his chest and throwing your head back in ecstasy.

Sex was never quiet with Choso. You couldn’t help it. Every thrust of his hips or swish of his tongue had your whole body radiating in pleasure. It was like he just knew what to do to make you feel good.

But honestly, you’d never truly let yourself go like you do with him. Before Choso, sex had felt like an obligation; now, it feels like liberation. You can tell him what you like, and he listens to you. Before he tries something new, he asks for your consent.

And he absolutely loves it when you take control. The moment you flip on top of him, he’s moaning in anticipation, holding you firmly on his cock as you grind. You meet his moans with your own, unholy words escaping your mouth as you ride him harder, faster. His lean muscles flex underneath you as he begins to thrust upwards, a desperate move to elicit more of those beautiful noises from you. You oblige, and the room reverberates with the sound of your voice.

It’s not until you come - the third time that night - that the room becomes silent.

Breathless, wrapped in each other’s arms, you’re at peace.

Except for one thing, tugging at the corner of your mind.

You leave your lover’s arms to go get a drink while Choso gets up to go to the bathroom.

“So…” you say casually between sips of water, hiding your anxiousness, “what did Mahito want?”

Choso hadn’t shared any information with you regarding the conversation between him and Mahito; in fact, he’d been quiet the entire walk home. You’d tried to shake it off all night, but it wasn’t like Choso to be closed off with you about something. It gave you an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Choso leans over the bathroom sink, splashing water on his face.

How much should he tell you?

When he returns to the room he sees you sitting on the bed, watching him, waiting for an answer. Keeping this from you is the last thing he wants to do, but he knows you too well. If he tells you he has to lose the fight, even to save you, you’ll be against it. Especially if you find out about Sukuna's past.

Your gaze is unrelenting. He has to tell you something. Maybe a half-truth will suffice for now.

“They know about us. And they think we’re rigging the fights.”

That has you up and walking towards him, worry etched across your face. “But that’s not true! Did you tell him that?”

“Of course I did, but nothing we say matters to them.”

“I’ll go to Mahito tomorrow. Explain to him that this is all a misunderstanding.”

You begin to pace the floor, but he grabs your arm, turning you towards him.

“It’s ok. I’m handling it.”

“How?”

“They’re setting up a big fight for two weeks from now. If I participate, they’ll free you from your father’s debt and overlook everything else.”

“Why?” The doubt in your voice lingers in the air between you and your lover. “Why would they do that for just one fight?”

“Like I said, it’ll be big.”

“How big?”

”Have you heard of Ryomen Sukuna?”

”Should I have?”

Good, you don’t know.

“He was - is - a big deal in the underground fighting world, and has created a lot of buzz for himself. A fight with him will draw a huge crowd, and millions of yen in bets.”

”And all you have to do…is fight him?”

Choso moves closer, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. You’re wearing his shirt and nothing else - he loves it when you do that.

There’s so much about you that he loves.

It’s these simple, small moments with you that he would fight the devil himself for.

Choso leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

He can handle this. He’s strong. He can defend you and his brothers, and everything can go back to normal. No, better than normal.

“Yeah,” he answers, pecking your lips, “yeah, that’s all.”

That night, even with you curled up snugly beside him, Choso can’t seem to get his brain to turn off. He grabs his cellphone and does an online search for Sukuna’s last fight.

Although he’ll never forget what he saw that night as he stood in the audience.

Sukuna’s opponent had lasted only two rounds before he could barely stand up, blood streaming from his nose and both eyes swollen shut. He punches at the air as Sukuna practically dances around him, just out of reach. When it seems as if Sukuna has had enough of teasing him, he grabs his opponent’s shoulders and head butts him with enough force to have the man drop to the ground.

The referee slams the floor three times to announce the apparent knockout, but that doesn’t stop Sukuna. He crouches over the unconscious man and proceeds to pummel him with his huge fist again and again, until the opponent’s face is barely recognizable. Through it all, Sukuna laughs, and it takes four men to pull him away from the carnage.

Sukuna’s opponent died the next day.

The light of Choso’s cell phone illuminates his face as he watches the fight, reliving those feelings of shock and awe all over again.

Sukuna is a madman.

No, not a man. That look in his eye as he fights isn’t human.

And with that, Choso has the realization that this fight could be his last.

—-

When you wake up the next morning, Choso is already gone. The bed is still slightly warm from where he’d slept beside you, so he must not have left too long ago, probably to get some extra training hours in. He tended to do that before a big fight.

By now, you’d grown accustomed to Choso’s routines: he trained with his coach every morning and ran three times a week to keep up his stamina; on the weekends he either watched fights or was in the ring himself; and every evening, he came home to you, without fail. You’d both eat a late dinner before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

It was predictable, mundane even.

So you can’t hide the shock on your face that evening when Choso suggests you join him the following weekend to meet his brothers, who attend a boarding school just outside Tokyo.

When you don’t reply to his offer, he continues. “It’s a quick train ride. If you’re worried about work you’ll be back in time.”

“No, it’s not work, it’s just…”

The words to explain your apprehension escape you. Meeting his family would be admitting that your relationship with Choso exists beyond the four walls of your apartment.

That the feelings you carry for him are real, in every sense of the word.

And that terrifies you. Nothing good in your life has ever lasted.

“Just for a few hours,” Choso says, his hand reaching out to you again, just like he did that night, three months ago. “What do you say?”

A few days later, you get on a train with Choso to Rugby International School, one of the best private schools in Japan.

“At first I thought it was a school for athletics, but then I found out that ‘Rugby’ refers to the place in England, not the sport.”

Choso laughs at himself, shifting in the crowded train filled with salarymen and other commuters. Instead of his usual uniform of a sweatshirt and gym pants, Choso wears a crisp white t-shirt and chino pants with his hair thrown back in a low, messy ponytail. It’s his attempt at dressing up, but with the deep dark scar that runs across his nose, amidst all these company workers in their dark suits and apathetic faces, he stands out.

The train rambles on, past the concrete jungle of Tokyo and into its suburbs, the houses growing larger and larger with each stop. When you arrive at Kashiwanoha Campus Station, Choso stands up, wipes his sweaty palms on his pants before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the train car.

You’ve never been to this part of Tokyo, but even the train station reeks of opulence. Designer shops line the streets and the cars that pass by are either BMW or Mercedes Benz. It’s like you’re in a completely different world.

”We’re almost there,” Choso says, “I told them to meet us just outside the school gates.”

”Choso…how do you pay for this? This school can’t be cheap.”

”Every yen I make from fighting goes to them. I keep just enough to live.”

”Don’t they ever come and see you?”

”What? No. I don’t want them anywhere near my world.” He looks at you. “Until now, that is.”

The two of you turn a corner and see three young men, each dressed in Rugby’s school uniform. Two of them are laughing and pushing each other, another is quietly texting on their phone.

“Oi!” Choso yells, waving his hand wildly. All three boys look in your direction immediately before running over.

For a moment, it’s as if you don’t exist. Choso hugs each brother as one talks over the other.

“We were almost late because Eso was taking forever getting dressed,” a boy with pink hair says. “And for what? We all have to wear the same uniform.”

Another brother, slightly taller, scoffs. He has a beautiful complexion and bats his long eyelashes. “Looking good takes time, Yuji. You could learn a thing or two.”

”No amount of makeup can hide your ugly,” comes the pink-haired brother’s response. “Am I right, Kechizu?”

Through it all, the other brother, the smallest of the three, just continues texting on his phone.

Choso breaks up the two arguing boys. “Cut it out, you two. You’re embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend.”

The three younger brothers freeze before all eyes are on you. Choso takes your hand and smiles broadly as he introduces you to each family member, but you’re still in shock at the title he so easily gave you:

Girlfriend.

You come to your senses just as Choso tells you each boy’s name: Eso, Yuji, and Kechizu.

The smallest, Kechizu, finally looks up from his phone. “So this is the surprise you had for us?” He asks, seemingly unimpressed. “I was hoping it was new smartphones.”

”Don’t be rude in front of the lady, Kechizu,” Eso reprimands. He takes your hand and smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, as he bends down to kiss your hand.

But not before Choso grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him away. “Ok, ok, enough introductions. Let’s go eat!”

Choso leads the group to a small Italian restaurant around the corner. Judging by the way the group is welcomed, they must be regulars. The brothers excitedly speak over each other, one of them asking Choso about his fights, another ordering food for the table (“Trust me, their carbonara is the best”), while the one sitting next to you - Yuji - puts his attention on you.

“We were wondering when we’d get to meet you,” the pink-haired boy says, eyes shining while he smiles a bright smile. “Nii-san’s never brought a girlfriend around before. But you sounded pretty special.”

“He…talks about me?” you ask hesitantly.

“Oh yeah, every time we call or text him, your name comes up. Here, let me get that for you…”

A salad bowl is placed on the table with small plates, and Yuji instantly takes it upon himself to serve you before the others, politely handing you your plate while you thank him.

“He told us how you stitch him up after fights, and make sure that he’s eatin’ and gettin’ rest. It’s nice to know someone cares and is looking out for him. He’s never really had that.”

Yuji shifts in his seat and moves closer to you, his voice lowered. “I have a different dad from my brothers, but Choso has never made me feel less-than. He’s always been there for all of us, through good times and bad.”

You look at Choso, sitting at the head of the table, a brother on either side and a giant platter of carbonara in front of him. He looks content as he rests a cheek on his hand, listening to Kechizu tell a story.

In the months you’ve been with Choso you’ve known him primarily as a fighter, then your lover, but here, in this small restaurant, surrounded by his family, a new side shines through: a softness you’ve never seen. When he laughs at something Eso says, it’s with his whole body, and you can’t help but laugh along. And his face glows with pride when he tells you stories of each brother and their accomplishments.

This kind of family connection is completely foreign to you. As an only child to parents who seemed to have little care for home, love, or family, you learned to take care of yourself. The kinds of happy families you saw in advertisements and television seemed like a fantasy, and over the years, you realized that relying on yourself was the only way you were ever going to survive in this world.

Listening to Yuji, Kechizu, and Eso, Choso is their hero. Someone who kept them safe when the world crashed down around them.

Years of neglect had you denying that people like that even existed. No one ever came to save you, so you’d saved yourself.

As the four of you walk back to Rugby School, bellies full of food and heads spinning from endless conversation, you lag behind, watching the four brothers. Choso pulls Kechizu into a headlock which quickly turns into him pulling all three little brothers closer. Arms over shoulders, they walk together and your heart drops, not from jealousy, but a deep yearning.

Would your life have been different if you’d ever had someone care for you like that during your childhood?

Suddenly, you feel an arm pull you into the group. It’s Yuji, once again smiling that toothy grin.

“Get in here. You’re one of us now. Right, Nii-san?”

Puzzled, you look over at Choso, who just beams. He nods his head. “She sure is, if she wants.”

All their eyes are on you again, much like they were this morning. You link your arm with Yuji’s and start walking.

“Ok, Kamo Brothers, where are we off to next?”

—-

That evening, after telling the younger brothers goodbye, you and Choso hold hands as you walk to the train station. He gently leads you through the turnstile, and sits next to you as the rumble of the train car puts you to sleep.

Neither lets go of the other’s hands until you’re crossing into the quiet of your apartment.

He lays beside you in bed, as he does every night. You face him, pushing aside dark strands of his hair, and you realize–

You never want moments like this with Choso to end.

Maybe depending on another person doesn’t make you weak. If you gave Choso your whole heart, you know he wouldn’t break it.

A deep voice breaks the comfortable silence that has settled between you.

“After this fight, what will you do?” Choso asks. “You won’t have to work for the yakuza anymore, or the boxing arena. You’ll be free.”

“Free…”

The word feels foreign on your lips. As much as you’ve prided yourself on your lifelong independence, something or someone has always weighed down your potential - your circumstances or your family, pulling you to this world like chains.

“I want to leave Tokyo, maybe even Japan. Start fresh and study medicine again. But that’ll take money. I might have to work fights for a little longer–”

“No.” Choso cuts in sharply. “Once these debts are paid you’re not going to be involved in this anymore, you hear me?”

There’s a rough desperation in his voice.

”Promise me,” he adds.

“What about you?” you counter,” Will you keep fighting after all this?”

”Why wouldn’t I? Fighting is all I’ve ever known.”

”You can’t keep fighting forever. Maybe this is a chance for both of us to break free from this life.”

Choso is quiet, but you can sense him ruminating on your words.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to take a chance.

“You could leave all this too, you know,” you suggest, your finger tracing over the deep scar across his nose. “Come with me, wherever I go.”

“What would I do? I didn’t even graduate high school.”

“We’ll…figure it out,” you assure, “together. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

Choso cups your cheek. The way you look at him - with so much hope and trust - sends shivers down his spine. If he could, he’d give you the world, anything you ask would be yours.

If only he could…

“I promise,” he reassures, kissing you on the lips and pulling you tight.

—-

The arena buzzes with activity the day of the match, as Sukuna and his crew arrive for the official physical checkup and weigh-in. Although you’d been working with the organization for almost a year now, this time everything feels more polished and professional, like a real, professional fight.

Choso comes to your office first, his trainer not far behind. You give him a quick vision test, then check his heart and blood pressure. Under the watchful gaze of his trainer, neither of you give away your feelings for each other, Choso’s demeanor deathly serious the whole time.

But his accelerated heart rate and cold hands tell you that he’s anxious, maybe even a little stressed.

You give his hand a slight squeeze and when he looks at you, you smile. “Everything looks good, Kamo-san. You’re in excellent fighting form.”

Choso stands up from your examination table. “Thanks…doctor..”

His trainer slaps his back before both make their way toward the door of your office. “Let’s get ready for the weigh-in”. Back turned, the trainer waves a hand towards you. “Thanks, Doc.”

Less than a minute later, your door flings open and a large man enters your office.

“You the doctor?” he asks.

“You’re Ryomen Sukuna, I presume.” you reply dryly.

His muscular form looms over you, much taller and broader than either you or Choso. Bold tattoos line his forehead, jaw, and cheeks, which highlight his scarlet eyes.

“In the flesh.” He looks you up and down in a way that has you feeling exposed and vulnerable. “How do you want me?”

Sukuna’s presence is imposing, an energy that tells you this man is dangerous, in every sense of the word. You turn to grab your stethoscope, taking a few breaths to steady yourself. “Just sit on the examination table.”

There’s a shuffle and you hear the crinkle of the tissue paper as his large body shifts on the table. When you turn around, you find that he’s taken off his t-shirt, and it takes you aback, not because of the incredibly muscular form that dwarfs the table he’s sitting on, but more for the tattoos that cover the rest of his body. Thick black lines and circles are etched on his biceps, pectorals and abs, surely covering other parts of his body that you’d rather not have him show, although judging from the smile on his face, he wants to.

The designs are simple, but there’s something tribal about them, as if they cover him with some kind of dark magic.

The closer you move towards him, it’s as if that magic wants to envelop you, devour you.

“It wasn't necessary to take off your shirt,” you say to the mountain of a man before you.

“You don’t seem to mind,” he replies.

“I’m just here to examine you, Sukuna-san.” You place your stethoscope on his chest, attempting to avert his gaze. “Take in a deep breath, please.”

“Sukuna-san,” he repeats in a slow drawl, “and speaking to me so politely. Gotta admit, it’s turning me on a little.” He laughs, a deep, soft rumble. “I wouldn’t mind taking you home tonight. It’d be just the thing I need to celebrate my win.”

A large hand snakes around your waist, pulling you between his legs. It catches you off guard, and you quickly back away, but not before he pulls you even closer.

“Let go,” you warn.

But he only smiles. “Make me.”

He’s goading you, you know it. Like a predator honed in on his prey, he wants to scare you, to fluster you.

His grip around you gets tighter and your whole body freezes.

“Prison does things to a man, you know. Makes their urges even stronger. And it’s been so long since…”

Sukuna’s other hand snakes under your shirt. Something inside you is screaming, warning you to break free. It’s only the two of you here - no coach, no Choso, no one to save you. So you have to save yourself.

You slap him hard across the face.

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself and your mouth shut while I’m examining you.”

The energy has changed in the room now. Your voice is low and threatening, a warning to the large predator before you.

“Sukuna, behave yourself,” comes a voice from behind you. “Don’t scare our sweet doctor. We need you to focus on the match.”

If looks could kill, Sukuna would have cut you into tiny pieces with his gaze. The voice’s warning has done little to change his demeanor.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Mahito,” he says.

But then, Sukuna smirks, putting his arms up in abandon. He shifts back on the table, raising his hands in innocence.

“I was just playing around.” There’s no apology in his voice. “Continue…doctor…”

The rest of the examination is done in silence as Mahito looks on, the last person you’d ever expect to come to your rescue. As you finish, Sukuna puts on his shirt and stands up, looking down on you with disgust.

“You know…I wouldn’t fuck you even if you begged me to,” Sukuna says, before sauntering out of the room.

Mojito, however, stays behind. “My apologies for Sukuna’s rude behavior, Miss Doctor.”

“Oh please, don’t pretend like you give a shit about me, Mahito.”

“But I do,” he counters, his voice oozing with fake concern, “this organization only wants you to succeed. It’s why we set up this whole fight in the first place.”

“Just to make money off Choso. He’s going to win against Sukuna, by the way, and I’ll be free of all of you.”

“Win?” Mojito’s eyes gleam. “Choso didn’t tell you, did he?”

“He said if he agreed to fight Sukuna you’d forgive my father’s debts.”

“Just fight, oh no, no, no.”

Mojito smiles his devilish grin as he moves closer.

“Honey, he’s gonna lose. That’s the deal for your freedom. And a loss against Sukuna, well… you might want to do some research on what happened to his last opponent.”

Before you could even ask Mahito what he meant by that, he’s out the door, joining Sukuna down the hall for his official weigh-in. You fish your phone out of the pocket of your jacket and do a quick internet search on Ryomen Sukuna, and what you find shocks you:

Boxer Pummels Man to Death in Illegal Fighting Ring

Bloodthirsty Fighter Faces 10-20 Years in Prison

Ryomen Sukuna: Supreme Athlete or Ruthless Killer?

Convicted Killer Freed on Court Mishap

Each headline has you gripping your phone tighter and tighter. You skim the first few articles but it’s the video you find on YouTube - shoddy and pixelated and taken from the crowd - that truly terrifies you.

Sukuna isn’t a boxer. He’s a psychotic madman.

Losing to him is a death sentence. Surely, Choso knows this.

And that realization hits you like a punch to the face.

Choso knows this.

Suddenly, you begin to shake as your body fills with anger, hurt, and sadness.

Choso is willingly putting himself in this situation because of you.

You want to yell, scream, hit something. Curse this world and your place in it. You hate yourself for letting your guard down, for letting Choso into your life and heart. Now his blood is on your hands.

This is what you get for putting your faith in someone other than yourself. For thinking that you could find happiness.

You don’t deserve happiness.

There are cheers coming from the arena as Choso and Sukuna do their weigh-in and fight announcement. You should be out there, Choso will be looking for you. But you can’t. Even the thought of looking at that fighting ring makes you sick to your stomach.

The fight announcer says something about, “the fight of the century.” More voices of investors, boxers, and yakuza reverberate through the hallway. Frozen to the seat in your office for who knows how long, the light shifts to late afternoon, and the countdown to the fight begins.

Soon, the building is quiet once more, but then you hear the door to your office open and an all-too familiar presence making his way towards you.

“Why didn’t you watch the weigh-in? I was looking for you.”

Your silence is palpable as Choso moves through the room, now filled with golden-hour light. He crouches in front of your seat, but you won’t even look at him.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Mahito told me about the fight. That you have to lose.” Your words come out so cold, it sends a chill down Choso’s spine. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” Choso defends, holding onto your thighs like they were a lifeline. “I just…didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

At that, you scoff. “Don’t play that bullshit with me, Choso. Sukuna killed a man. And you agreed to fight him–and lose? You’re insane.”

You push him aside and get up to walk away, but he grabs your arm. “It was the only option.”

“Or what?”

“Or they were going to hurt you. If I lose, you’re free. Free of your father’s debts, and working for the yakuza.”

“But at what cost? I didn’t ask for this, Choso.”

“You didn’t have to ask. I’m willing to do it.” He loosens his grip and his arms fall to his side. “Because I love you.”

At that, your eyes go wide. It’s the first time anyone has said those words to you. You should be elated; instead, you feel sick, your anger flowing through you like poison.

“I didn’t ask for that either,” is your reply.

Choso winces, and you know that cut him straight to the core. It’s what you want - to hurt him so badly, that he’ll cast you aside, call this whole thing off.

“You think I need you to save me? I don’t. I’ve never needed anyone and I sure as hell don’t need you.” Each word is like an arrow aimed straight for Choso’s heart. “Call off this fight.”

Hands open in surrender, Choso looks completely helpless. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Then fuck you.”

You push past him, but Choso grabs your arm again.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not gonna watch you commit suicide. Do what you want with your life, but leave me out of it.”

Choso’s grip tightens in desperation. “Don’t leave like this.”

But you won’t even look at him. You refuse to. “Let go of me.”

Without another word, his hand loosens, and you bolt out of the office before you have time to see the hurt look on his face. Blinking back tears, you walk another block, then another, before suddenly stopping in Ueno Park. Defeated, you slump down on a park bench, your head in your hands. The nighttime air has you thinking more clearly and you take a few deep breaths.

Idiot. What are you even doing?

You should go back. Apologize for your hurtful words. Tell Choso that you love him, something you never thought you could even feel for someone else. Explain that you’re angry because you don't want him to put his life on the line for you.

It’s less than an hour before the fight. You could get back there in time before it starts.

Then you hear noise coming from the small homeless encampment nestled within the bushes further down the path, and a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

”It’s my bag! Give it back!”

A small, scruffy man grips a leather duffle bag like his life depends on it, while a teenager yanks it from his arms. Another boy punches the man in the face when he begins to run after them.

By the time you get to the scene of the incident, the teenagers have run off and the man is slumped on the ground, blood pouring from his nose.

You crouch next to him, taking some tissues from your bag and handing them to the man.

”Dad…”

That title feels as foreign to you as the word love.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

It takes him a moment to register who you are - a mix of the punch he took to the face and the alcohol you can smell emanating from his skin.

“What do you mean - I live here.” He gestures to a small tent a few yards away. “Those assholes took my bag. I have to get it back!”

He rushes to get off the ground, but falls over, practically into your arms.

“They’re gone, Dad. Let me…just check your nose and clean you up.”

You help your father back to his camp and look around for a clean cloth, which you wet with water from a nearby fountain.

It’s been months since you’ve seen your father, and it seems that time has not been kind. He’s skinny and dirty, with an unkept beard and hair. You’d given him money to live in a small studio apartment, but it seems that money has been spent for other means. Again.

You want to chastise him, but you’re too tired to fight. Instead, you gently clean his wound.

”It is not broken, luckily,” you say as he winces at your touch. “What was in the bag?”

”My money! All my money!”

”You mean, the money I gave you for the apartment?”

But your words don’t seem to even register with the man. “Listen, there’s a big fight tonight! Ryomen Sukuna versus Choso Kamo! I was just gonna put a little wager down.”

At that, you pull your hand back and scowl.

“I..I was gonna pay you back—and more!” he says desperately. “This is my big chance!”

You sigh, defeated. “After all this…all I’ve done for you…sacrificed for you…you haven’t changed one bit.”

You want to hurl a thousand curses at him, for never being a real father, for loving gambling and alcohol more than his own family, for never even so much as thanking you when you told him you’d work to pay off his debt.

Your father was never going to give you the love and acceptance you so desperately wanted.

It ended up coming in the form of a dark-haired boxer who’s shown you more love in three months than your father did your whole life.

You stand up, dust the dirt off your pants and look over the huddled mess of a man beneath you.

”Your debt will be paid off in full after tomorrow.”

”Ha! I knew I could count on you!” He stumbles up and reaches out, but you recoil. “I knew you were good for something.”

Your jaw clenches at his comment. “I can’t say the same for you. After this, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

“Aw now, don’t be like that—I’m your father!”

“You’ve never been a father to me—not once. You can drown yourself in alcohol or bury yourself in debt for the rest of your miserable life. I’m leaving Tokyo.”

“Wait!”

As you turn around, you see your father, a look of desperation in his eyes. He moves closer and says your name in such a sweet and simple way, like he did when you were a little girl.

“Can you…spare just fifty thousand yen? If I wager in favor of Sukuna, I know I can win big. There’s no way Sukuna will lose!”

Your heart drops.

“Goodbye, Dad,” you say, as you walk away from your father’s tent and out of the park.

You need to get back to Choso.

——

Choso sits in the locker room as his trainer tapes up his hands. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, going over the fight in his mind.

In the sixth round, he has to go down. Those were the instructions he was given.

Beyond the fact that he has to let down his guard to allow Sukuna to knock him out, he has to actually survive that long. Choso is a formidable fighter—he knows his strength is in his swift footwork and quick offensive punches, but Sukuna is much larger than him. If Choso takes very many punches, it could take him out well before the sixth round.

I’ve just gotta survive six rounds, he keeps telling himself. Stay on my feet, and not take too many blows to the head.

I’ve just gotta stay focused…

But that’s difficult to do, when he keeps thinking of you, the hurt on your face, and how you walked out so abruptly. He should have been totally honest with you from the beginning, but he didn’t want you watching him out of fear.

He screwed up, and now you’re gone.

Where did you go? You were so upset. He hopes you don’t do anything wreckless. When this is all over, he’ll explain himself fully, and tell you he loves you properly. Do you love him too? Maybe if he–

“Oi!”

Choso feels the sting of a slap across his face.

”Get your head in this fight, Choso. Focus,” his coach commands.

”Right. Sorry.”

Choso gets up and starts a quick warmup. When he finishes, his coach throws boxing gloves his way.

“Keep your hands up. You can’t afford to get sloppy,” the coach says as they both leave the locker room and make their way down the hall and toward the arena. “And just keep moving. You slow down and you’re dead.”

There’s a nod of acknowledgment from Choso before he puts in his mouth guard.

Whether or not you’ll be waiting for him, he’s doing this.

The noise of the crowd gets louder and louder as Choso walks down the hall and crescendos once he walks out into the open space.

“And here he is, with 22 undefeated fights in a row, whose quick attacks are like a slicing exorcism. Known for making his opponents bleed, the Blood Manipulator himself: Choso Kamo!!!”

There are cheers and boos as Choso walks into the ring, but he can’t hear them. He jogs in place, throwing a few punches at the air.

Then, the lights go down, and Sukuna enters.

”And now, the man you’ve all been waiting for. The King of Curses! Fists like cleavers! Returning to the ring undefeated–Ryomen Sukuna!

The crowd goes wild as Sukuna enters the ring, and Choso can feel the malevolent energy permeating his huge opponent. Scarlet eyes look out onto his cheering, bloodthirsty fans, and he raises his arms in the air as if he’s already won. The cheers are almost deafening.

When Sukuna’s eyes move to Choso he smirks.

Does Sukuna know the fight is fixed? Probably not. There’s no way his pride would allow something like that. Or maybe he knows and simply doesn’t care - just as long as he gets to pummel Choso’s face in.

Choso walks to the center of the ring with the referee, ready to tap gloves and start the fight, but Sukuna stays in his corner, jogging in place and throwing some punches.

It’s clear that Sukuna has no interest in following any rules.

The bell rings and Sukuna charges out from his corner with fists flying - two swift right jabs and a left cross. Choso has seconds to process what’s happening and quickly slips to the side, but not before Sukuna counters and is able to get a punch to Choso’s ribs. Choso stumbles back, and as Sukuna charges, Choso is able to weave left and get a punch to Sukuna’s gut.

For a moment, Sukuna doubles over, giving Choso a chance to move to the opposite corner. It was a lucky hit - Choso knows that - and as Sukuna turns to face him he knows he won’t get many of those chances again.

Choso continues to defend against Sukuna’s combination punches, sacrificing body shots to protect his head. In a flash, the three minutes are up and the round is over.

—-

You rush as fast as you can back to the arena. Ueno Park was quite a distance away, and you hadn’t realized in your anger how far you had actually walked. The match has already started, but if you hurry, you’ll only miss the first two or three rounds. Choso hadn’t told you when exactly he was supposed to lose, but surely the fight would go eight, maybe even ten rounds. Mahito and his organization would want to give the patrons a good show, no doubt.

Your key card gets you into the back door of the arena, avoiding the crowds outside and men covertly placing additional side bets on an already largely illegal operation. You don’t want to hear the odds of the fight, or who is most likely to win. You just want to be by Choso’s side, no matter what happens.

Once you enter the area, you’re hit with the intense smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and sweat. Pushing through the crowd, you eventually get ringside.

“Step aside,” one of the bodyguards commands.

You answer by taking out your ID card. “I’m a doctor,” you quickly respond without even a glance his way.

You’ve made it just to see the end of round three. Both fighters return to their corners, and Choso sits on a small stool, taking gulps of water while his coach talks to him. He looks tired, but all in one piece - though there’s some swelling and bruising on his right cheek that concerns you. Sukuna must have given him a hard right cross.

You want to make your way to his corner, check on him and make sure he’s ok, but the breaks between rounds are short. The bell rings and both men are back up and in fighting stance.

Despite working here for almost six months and having Choso as your lover, there’s little you really know about boxing. But it doesn’t take an expert to know that Sukuna has the upper hand. Choso is quick and light on his feet, dodging Sukuna’s punches that come just as fast. And Sukuna is huge–you can almost feel the air move when his giant fists slice through the air. For every three punches Sukuna makes, Choso maybe gets one in—a left jab here, an uppercut there—but Choso is on the defense, blocking hit after hit after hit.

Choso puts Sukuna in a clinch just to catch his breath. When Sukuna pushes him away, Choso glances at the ropes and sees you standing there.

You came back.

His eyes meet yours, and for the slightest moment, his hands defending his face slide down. It’s just the opening Sukuna needs to put a short right hand to Choso’s upper cheek.

The surprise of the hit throws Choso slightly off balance, and he stumbles against the ropes, all the while cursing himself for losing focus. But despite the fact that kind of punch could have easily knocked out any other fighter, he stands up and continues fighting. When the round ends, you run to his corner.

There’s no time for apologies or gestures of love, so you do the only thing you know: immediately check the new wound on his cheek, which was powerful enough to break skin. Blood has started to seep out and run down Choso’s face.

“You’re bleeding,” is all you can think to say.

“You’re here,” is how he answers.

You quickly grab the medical kit from the cutman working the fight and grab some epinephrine and a cotton swab to slow the blood flow.

Choso winces slightly at the pressure. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

The two of you have less than a minute before the round five bell rings.

“You can’t get hit here again, you hear me?” you command as you finish swabbing his cheek. “The swelling is going to start affecting the slight in your eye. Protect your face.” You do a frantic scan of the rest of his body. “Anything else? Are your ribs ok? Your forearms?”

“I’m ok,” he simply answers, though he’s anything but. His sides are throbbing and his forearms feel as if they’ve been broken in half, but there’s no point in telling you that - you’ll only worry more.

The bell rings, but before Choso stands up, you grab his hand.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly amongst the cheers.

It takes everything within Choso not to pull you close and tell you again that he loves you. But he can’t lose focus now, so he simply squeezes your hand back, rises from the stool and pops in his mouthguard.

When round five starts, it’s as if Sukuna has gained even more energy. His heavy-handed punches pummel Choso’s arms and sides as he tries to dodge as quickly as possible. Just when Choso thinks he has a rhythm for Sukuna’s attacks and gets a punch in, his opponent counters with a new strategy.

One left hook hits Choso squarely in the chin, knocking him off balance, followed by a right hand that hits that same bruised and battered spot on his cheek. The gash from the previous round opens up and the blood flows.

For a moment, everything blurs in Choso’s vision. He blinks a few times and realizes that his right cheek is swelling at a rapid rate and he’s losing sight in that eye, just as you warned. Choso retreats to the ropes to try and get his bearings, but Sukuna is on him, with a heavy punch to his kidneys.

The pain is sharp and radiates throughout Choso’s body. He falls onto Sukuna, clinching once more, as the seconds edge closer to the end of the round.

I can’t go down, he thinks to himself, not yet.

You’re holding the ropes so tightly it’s turned your knuckles white. Then the bell finally rings, finishing the round. Choso limps back to his corner.

You’re immediately by his side to assess the situation. There is now a laceration above his eye to match the now deepening wound on his cheek. His right eye is swollen shut. There’s blood everywhere.

You immediately grab some QuikAid to help the wounds to clot. Choso takes a swig of water and spits out the bloody fluid in a bucket.

“Choso, you can’t take much more of this.” The words come out frantically as you try to quell the bleeding. You push back sweaty strands of his black hair, which stick to his forehead and neck.

“I know. It’ll be over soon,” he mumbles as his face swells.

You want to tell him to stop now, forget about all this and walk away, but you and he both know it’s much too late for any escape.

Instead, you take his face in your hands and, putting your forehead to his, say softly, “Just stay alive, ok? Your brothers need you.” Then you pause. “I need you.”

Choso’s one eye goes wide, then he reaches up to touch your face, his calloused fingers caressing your cheek. “When all this is over, I’ll go with you, wherever you go. Just wait for me.”

The bell rings to start the sixth round. Choso gets up, every muscle in his body begging for relief, but he stands tall.

This may be the final round, but he’s not going down without a fight.

In a turn of events that surprises even Sukuna, Choso comes out from his corner and meets his opponent with a quick left-right combination. Sukuna dodges by sliding left and Choso steps back; when Sukuna comes charging back in, Choso makes a right jab. Sukuna defends by putting up his arms, but the jab was a feint; Choso’s left fist makes contact with Sukuna’s side.

Sukuna responds with a jab of his own, but Choso goes low, hitting Sukuna in the side again hard.

You can tell from the sidelines that Sukuna is pissed with this sudden change of pace. In his anger, the giant man swings his fists, but Choso bobs and weaves, barely avoiding any impact. There are renewed cheers from the crowd as the tables in this fight seem to have turned.

It even has you perplexed. Maybe your lover has decided to win this after all. Either way, you’re determined to be by his side.

Punch, weave, jab. Block, then right hook. Choso’s knuckles meet the bone of Sukuna’s chin and both men hear a crack.

Blood is now flowing into Sukuna’s mouth, which he spits out onto the mat. Amongst the blood and saliva is a tooth.

“You little fuck,” the giant man says, throwing a punch that flings Choso against the ropes. “You think you’re gonna win this?”

Choso is unable to move as Sukuna punches his sides again and again.

“I saw that doctor taking care of you over there. You tryin’ to look good for her?” he goads between jabs. “How do you think you look now?”

Choso pushes himself off the ropes and clinches Sukuna again, hugging the man tightly around the middle. Sukuna maneuvers his body and puts Choso in a headlock. He punches Choso in the nose repeatedly and Choso feels the crack of his nose breaking.

The referee breaks the two men apart, allowing Choso to stumble into a fighting stance. Arms up, he defends against Sukuna’s onslaught.

Until he can’t any more.

Both arms drop to his sides, and it takes less than a second for Sukuna to take advantage of the opportunity with a right cross, hitting Choso directly in the temple.

Suddenly, everything in Choso’s line of sight gets extremely bright.

Then it all goes dark.

Like getting hit by a freight train, Choso falls to the mat with a loud thud.

The referee starts the countdown. “One….two….”

But all the voices and cheering turn to muffled noise as Choso’s body completely shuts down.

In that moment, images of his brothers come to mind:

Yuij’s smiling face when he caught a frog in the park.

Eso giving a makeshift fashion show in their one-room apartment.

Kechizu dancing to the Ultraman opening song.

“...five….six…”

Now it’s your face. You're sleeping next to him in the bedroom of your tiny apartment. Your eyes open and you smile. You reach out…”

“...seven….eight…”

It was worth it.

“...nine…”

She is worth it.

“...ten! Sukuna wins!”

The whole crowd must have felt the intense strength that emanated from that last punch, because it takes them a few moments before they start screaming the victor’s name. You’re in a panic when Choso doesn’t move. He’s out cold, but you can see his chest rising and falling. He’s still alive. The fight is over. .

But Sukuna isn’t finished.

Instead of taking a victory lap around the ring, Sukuna moves towards Choso and gives him a swift kick to the ribs, then another.

“Fucking pathetic! Give me a challenge!” Sukuna exclaims between kicks.

Without thinking, you rush onto the mat and jump on Sukuna’s back. You punch his face and neck and pull at his hair, but he throws you across the ring like a ragdoll.

Sukuna spits on Choso and throws his gloves to the mat before prowling your way and crouching in front of you. “Bitch…you’re gonna regret that…” He pulls you up by the hair, raises his giant fist, and smirks. “Time to join your worthless lover.”

You know one punch from Sukuna in the right place could kill you instantly. So you close your eyes, and resign yourself to your fate.

But Sukuna’s fist stop in mid-air as a commotion builds in the crowd. Just then, Mahito a two of his henchmen jump into to ring and run towards Sukuna.

“It’s the police! Sukuna we gotta get out of here now,” Mahito yells, pulling at the giant’s arm.

Sukuna throws you to the ground. “Lucky break,” he says, before jumping out of the ring and disappearing into the crowd.

Only until Sukuna’s completely out of sight do you crawl across the floor to Choso. His body is limp and his breathing is shallow, as you lift him up into your lap, screaming for somebody - anybody - to call an ambulance.

Covered in his blood and sweat, you pull him even tighter to you.

“Choso…” you whisper his name, “I love you…I love you…”

You repeat those words again and again, like an incantation commanding him to wake up and walk out of this arena with you.

But as you watch Choso being carried into an ambulance that night, you wonder if your words will be enough to save him.

When they were little, he remembers play-wrestling with them in the house, always letting them win. Their skinny, gangly arms pinning him down, Choso laughing uncontrollably when they’d dog pile him. 

All those years, they’d only had each other to depend on.

He knew sending them to boarding school was for the best, but it didn’t make the choice any  easier. The day Choso saw them off at the train station, he pulled them into the tightest, longest hugs. 

After that, his life changed. It was lonely without his brothers, so Choso began to focus his time and attention on fighting, training, and eventually, on his matches at night. He lived as frugally as he could so he could send the money he earned to the three younger siblings so far away. How long had it been since he’d seen them? Would they even recognize him now?

Some days, Choso felt more like a machine than a man: going through the motions of his day, beating up others and getting beaten upon. But when his skin would break and the blood would flow, it made him feel alive. Sure, it was a shitty way to live, but he accepted it as his own.

And then, everything changed when he walked into your office.

Your touch was so soft that night, so gentle—when you held his head, checking for signs of concussion. 

He felt his heart race every time you pulled him close to check on his wound, or looked into his eyes and asked how he was feeling.

And when his lips finally met yours for that kiss, Choso thought he had to be dreaming. He waited for you to push him away or slap his face; but instead, you returned his kiss with the same fervor, opening your mouth, and inviting his tongue to mingle with yours, a faint taste of blood from the cut on your lip.

He practically ran down the hall after his fight, hoping to find you waiting for him. 

(You were.) 

It felt like a risk to reach his hand out to you. Would you trust him, let him protect you?

Your hand in his was all the answer he needed as you both walked to your apartment. 

On the street, the two of you now pass by anonymous faces, the night still young for those searching for a vice. Choso is alert and on edge, still coming down from that rush of adrenaline he gets when he fights, but also from the possibility that the blue-haired freak might have decided to follow you. 

“I don’t live far from here, just around this corner.”

It’s the only thing you’ve said to him since you left your office, but he can almost see the wheels in your head turning, trying to make sense of all this. Choso was trying to understand too: why he was so drawn to you, why he couldn’t get you out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.

 (But let’s face it, he hadn’t really tried that hard). 

Sure, there was so much he still didn’t know about you, but he could feel you opening up to him, little by little. You seemed so strong but delicate, serious and sad. Besides his brothers, he’d never cared much for anyone else, but now…

….All that was starting to change.

A card key beeps and the door to a dingy brick building clicks open. You let go of his hand as you start walking up a narrow, stuffy stairwell, the sound of your shoes scraping against the concrete. When you get to the third floor, you turn and walk down a dimly-lit hallway. 

Keys jingle, the door creaks open, and you take three steps inside, but Choso stays just outside the doorway.

You’re home safe, like he wanted, and it’s late. He should say goodnight, walk down those stairs, and head back to his place. 

But then you turn to him.

”You wanna come in?”

His body suddenly won’t move.

”Just for a moment?” you add.

“Y-yeah,” he says, crossing the threshold tentatively, as if you might change your mind at any minute. 

It’s a small, one-room apartment, with a bed in one corner and a cafe table in the other. The space is neat and tidy, but bare of any personal touches: no pictures of friends hanging on the refrigerator, no trinkets or knick knacks. There’s nothing that connects you to anyone or anything, as if you are just passing through.

”You want a beer?” you ask as you walk over to the refrigerator.  

“Sure.”

You hand him the can and he sits at your table while you situate yourself on the bed across from him. 

You’re not quite sure why you invited him in; all you know is that you didn’t want him to leave just yet. You’d been debating on what you’d do when you got to your place, and now he’s here, drinking his beer, with eyes keenly focused on you. You take a drink as silence fills the room until Choso says your name, softly.

”What’s going on? Why did that man hit you?” 

You hesitate. “It’s a long story.” 

“I figured that.”

“When I tell you, you’ll think differently of me.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself.”

When you shift uncomfortably, Choso closes the gap between you and sits on the bed. He places a hand on your thigh.

“You can trust me.”

How long had it been since you’d actually trusted someone’s word? Perhaps it was finally time to open up to someone, and Choso seemed willing to listen without judgment. The burden had been heavy for so long.

“My father is a gambler,” you start, your eyes cast down and your hands folded in your lap, picking nervously at your nails. “But not just casually. It’s a compulsion for him. Been that way ever since I was young. He was constantly selling things in the house to pay his debts and sometimes, he’d be gone for days at a time. My mother and I often wondered if he’d ever come back; if the loan sharks he’d borrowed money from had finally come to collect.”

A complicated family life. Choso could understand that. 

“I left the house as soon as I could and went to university to become a doctor. I promised myself I’d leave my nightmare of a family behind and only rely on myself. But turns out, that’s easier said than done.”

You swallow, thinking of how to phrase the rest of your story. “I was in the first year of my doctor’s residency when my father showed up at my apartment. He said he owed ‘some bad people’ millions of yen in unpaid loans. Of course he didn’t have the money, so he came to me.”

“Your father expected you to pay off all that debt for him?” Choso interrupted.

You shake your head. “He knew I didn’t have the money on me, but since I worked at the hospital, I had access to drugs –  strong painkillers that could be sold on the black market. He begged me, said they were gonna kill him if he didn’t start paying them. I saw the fear in his eyes – I knew what he was saying was true. And yeah, he was a shitty father, but I couldn’t just let him be killed. His life weighed on my conscience. So I agreed to help him. I started stealing drugs from the hospital and giving them to the organization that was threatening my father.”

“You started working for the yakuza?”

You shift uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“Instead of just making your father sell it?”

“I couldn’t trust him with that kind of thing. If I was going to do this, then I was going to deal with the group directly. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I told myself that it was for a good reason. That surely after this, he’d change his ways. For a while, I actually thought it was all gonna work out.”

“But…” Choso can feel the climax of this story.

“But the hospital found out. They wanted to keep it quiet and avoid any bad press, so they silently let me go. I should consider myself lucky, I guess, but it’ll be impossible for me to be a licensed doctor now.”

“And that’s why you’re working at the arena?”

“I had nowhere else to go and still had so much money to pay off. The organization runs this arena - What else could I do?” 

Choso can see tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes, but you quickly wipe them away.

It surprises you, how much you’ve allowed yourself to say to this man you’ve only known for a week. Long-guarded family secrets seem to flow faster than you’d realized was possible and hearing it out loud makes you feel even worse.

“I’ve resented my father for so long, but in the end, I’m just like him. Just some worthless piece of shit.”

“That’s not true.”

Choso’s large hand moves from your thigh to your hand, squeezing it gently. “You did what you thought you needed to do. You were put in an impossible situation. But we are not our fathers.”

“We?” you say, a puzzled look on your face.

Choso blinks, looking down. “My father is a terrible person. He was manipulative and abusive to my mother, me, and my brothers, although I took most of the physical blows. I remember just lying in my bed and wanting to kill him. And then he just…disappeared, and left me and my brothers to fend for ourselves.”

Choso struggles to continue, and so you give his hand a squeeze.

“I try to be a good brother, and a good man, but there’s this anger, deep inside me. And I’m scared that I might become just like him. Like it’s some kind of curse.”

He turns to look at you. “But I know I have to be better, for the sake of my brothers. I’ve made a lot of mistakes because I had no one to guide me; but I’m not gonna let that happen to them. That’s what keeps me going.”

That large hand now suddenly feels hot and sweaty in yours. Choso sighs.

“There’s just one thing.”

At that, your brow furrows. “What’s that?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you stitched me up that night. It’s starting to become a bit of a problem.” His words make you chuckle. “Seriously, I thought I was gonna have to get beaten up every fight to ever get near you again.” 

Choso feels your hand squeeze his again, just a bit. You look up at him with your sad eyes and he can’t help but move closer. 

“You have no idea what you do to me..” he confesses.

Then he says your name in that low voice you’ve come to yearn for. 

“Choso…you don’t know what you’re saying. I’m no good for you.”

“Good…bad…I don’t care about any of that.” His body is now shifted even closer. “All I know is I want you. All of you. The good and the bad.”

The words you want to say to him hang just on the tip of your tongue:

I feel the same.

I want you, Choso.

But you’ve never been good with words. They’re too permanent, too binding. They create promises no one can ever keep.

Instead, you busy your lips by pressing them against his. You don’t notice his eyes going wide, as if he wasn’t expecting this to really happen. But it doesn’t take long for him to pull you closer, meeting your anxious kiss with his own determined energy.

Perhaps a little too determined, as the eagerness of his kisses press too hard on the cut on your lower lip. You suck in a breath and pull back, noticing that the wound has reopened.

Choso immediately cups your cheek. “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” 

“No, no, it’s fine. Just a bit tender.”

Choso stands up, takes your hand, and leads you to your bathroom. Closet-sized, the two of you barely fit, but Choso doesn’t seem to notice as he immediately grabs a washrag and wets it.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Taking care of you, for a change. Now keep still.”

He gently and deliberately dabs the washcloth on your swollen lip. His brow is furrowed and his eyes serious, and it gives you this flutter in your heart; a heart that for so long has known only the sting of pain, loss, and disappointment. Suddenly there’s a desire within you to experience more of this new feeling.

You place your hand on top of his and pull it away from your lip, then lightly kiss the corner of his mouth. One kiss is followed by another, then you start moving down his jaw to his neck - slow, sensuous kisses that make his breath hitch. Lips parted, your tongue draws in the salty taste of his skin, and as you move further down, you feel the beating of his pulse.

Choso can barely contain himself. His hands move under your shirt, cupping your breasts over your bra. When he hears your hum of approval, he pulls the shirt up and over your head.

His eyes rove over your collarbone and bare chest, where skin meets the cotton of your bralette. It’s now his lips exploring your neck and chest as he pushes you against the sink. You try to adjust, but the space is too cramped, so you pull away from him.

Choso’s face contorts in concern. “Did I hurt you again?”

But you’ve completely forgotten about your injured lip as you push him out of the bathroom and toward your bed. Getting the gist, he moves backwards, bumping into the table and chairs as he pulls off his sweatshirt, then t-shirt, and finally his pants.

It’s clumsy and awkward, but both of you smile between kisses as you grope and pull at the other’s clothing. You even laugh a little when Choso stubs his toe on the edge of your bed as he unhooks your bra. 

It’s as if the heaviness of the night has been lifted away and all that’s left is the dark-haired man before you. Choso. He stands over you now in only his underwear, his chiseled chest and abs marked with scars and bruises. Black hair leads lower down, disappearing beneath the waistband of his underwear, his growing arousal evident.

He looks over you as you lay on the bed with his shy smile, only to be replaced by something more serious.

The small bed creaks as he positions himself over you. 

“Is this ok?”

“More than ok,” you reply, attempting to keep calm but unable to hide the nervousness in your voice. Your very core is screaming to be consumed by this man, but this feeling of desire is so new and unknown. To be so vulnerable with someone - physically and emotionally - is territory you’ve rarely explored, if ever.

His dark eyes seem to look through any walls you’ve built up around yourself. You look away to avert his gaze, your cheeks burning.

“…it’s just…it’s been a while and I…”

Choso can’t help but smile. He cages you in with his arms and moves close to your ear.

“I told you, I’m taking care of you tonight. Will you let me do that?” he asks, before his lips start moving down your neck, then your chest. The trail of kisses make it to your breasts, his tongue flicking one nipple while his fingers pinch the other. Your eyes meet and you nod.

“Yes…” you breathlessly reply.

With that answer you see a change in him: a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It makes your heart pound even faster. 

His mouth moves even further down, stopping just as he reaches your core. By now your whole body is shaking in expectation and desire. 

Choso doesn’t contain the growl that escapes his mouth when he pulls down your underwear. He has to taste you, to feel your heat, but he also wants to take it slow, to make sure you’re completely satisfied. 

So instead of diving between your legs, he lifts one up, resting it on his shoulder before kissing along your calf. When he reaches your inner thighs, the light kisses turn to biting and sucking, which elicits a moan from your lips. Choso stops and smirks against your soft flesh.

“You like that, huh? I’ll remember that.”

Choso has never been one for studying or books, but he knows how to read people and the subtle tells their eyes and body give. Years of fighting in and out of the boxing ring taught him that when facing an opponent for the first time, you have to test out the waters - find their weak and strong points, and what gives you the better advantage.

He’s not in the ring right now, and you’re not his opponent, but he is studying your body, taking note of every twitch, listening to every sigh and moan. By the time he’s made it to your upper thigh, leaving kiss marks along the way, your breath has sped up and the leg hitched on his shoulder is pulling him closer to his intended goal.

“Choso, please…”

It doesn’t take a genius to know what you want.

And so he moves to your center, starting with a gentle lick at your folds. You’re so wet and you taste so good, it compels him to keep going, his tongue moving around your clit, your moans getting louder. Each moment you get wetter and wetter, and he’s lapping it all up like a man dying of thirst. When your hands grip his hair and your hips start bucking into his mouth, he knows you’re close.

Hell, he’s about to cum just from your moans alone. He begins to rut his hips against the bed, to temporarily appease his aching cock.

Because no matter what he wants right now, it’s your pleasure that comes first tonight.

It’s been a while since you’ve been sexually intimate with anyone, but you can’t remember anyone ever eating you out this good. The way he moves against your swollen clit has you seeing stars, and you find yourself moaning his name, begging for more before he finally plunges his tongue deep inside you. Your hips now move of their own accord, desperate to reach that sweet orgasm that you know he can give you. 

When it finally comes, you can barely think straight. A warmth from deep within your core begins to radiate through your whole body, making your legs tremble. You buck against his mouth one final time before you finally release the grip you have on his dark locks. 

“Shit,” is all you can manage to say at the moment.

Choso sits up on his haunches, a smirk on his face as he sees you blissed out beneath him. His hands on your quivering thighs, he rubs them up and down, reveling in the softness of your skin. Your body spread out before him like this, he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life. 

“I’m not finished yet,” he says as he pushes his underwear down, his hard cock springing free. Precum drips down his hand as he grips his girth and pumps once, then twice, before leaning over to align with your center. He searches your face for any objection; when he sees none, he pushes in.

Choso isn’t religious, but he swears he sees god in that moment. Your warm, wet walls envelop him so fully that he has to take a moment just to be able to think straight. 

“Ah…you’re…so…tight…”

He says each word with a thrust, each one deeper and harder than the next. Eventually, your body adjusts to his size and he moves faster, his abs flexing with the movement. Sweat from his chest drops down on your stomach as he pushes even deeper.

“Choso!” You cry out as your arms pull him against you. Again and again he buries his cock in you with an intense, steady rhythm. 

“Mmmm….you feel so good…” 

Choso takes both your legs and hitches them over his shoulders and as he pushes in, you cry out. His cock is deep now, hitting that place inside you that makes you arch your back in ecstasy. 

“Don’t stop…” you plead.

“I won’t…” he answers, “…I can’t…”

He lifts you up to sitting and you both look at each other, breathless and sweat-drenched, his black hair sticking to his neck and forehead. Neither of you seem to be able to form coherent words, so instead, you press your foreheads together. The brief pause allows you to catch your breath and in that moment you have a realization:

The stream of negative thoughts that constantly bombard your brain have stopped. Years of having to rely on yourself had forced you to always be thinking two or three steps ahead, but right now, there’s only this moment with Choso. You take a deep breath and even the air in your lungs feels different. 

He leans back slightly and you begin to move your hips, riding his cock as the two of you grind against each other. It’s all too much and not enough - his body as it moves with yours, his staggered breaths. You never want it to end.

Then you feel that tell-tale flutter building up inside you as your second orgasm releases in a spectacular climax; the sensation has you holding onto his neck as if your life depended on it.

When Choso feels you clenching around his cock, it takes everything within him not to cum right at that moment. He barely lays you back down before he pulls out, his warm seed releasing onto your stomach.

You’re shaking, holding onto him just as tightly as you were moments before.

“Choso…Choso…” you whisper his name in the dark.

“I’m here…” is his quiet reply, “…I’m not going anywhere.”

—— 

The two of you lie on your bed, exhausted and completely spent. You stare up at the ceiling and he does the same, both expectantly waiting on the other to say or do something. 

Choso breaks the silence first.

“Use me,” he says.

“What?”

“Make wagers on my fights. Let’s beat them at their own game.”

You’re quiet, contemplative. Surely he’s joking.

When you make no reply, he continues to press the issue. “I’ll win for you. Every time.”

”You can’t guarantee that,” you counter.

”Yes, I can.” 

You sit up in bed and gather the sheets around you, your back facing him. 

“I’m not going to pull you into my shit. It’s my burden to bear.”

There’s a shifting and you can feel him directly behind you. 

“I figured you’d say that. But I’m winning, regardless. You might as well make money off of it.”

Your mind weighs all the possibilities that this could go wrong. What if he doesn’t win and you get deeper in debt? What if the organization finds out you’ve partnered with him?” 

But at this point, what other choices did you have? 

There’s a warm, strong hand on your bare shoulder.

“You can trust me,” he says, his voice resolute.

There’s that word again. Trust. But trust takes time, and you barely know him. It’s a gamble, in every sense of the word; a gamble you’re not sure you should take.

 As you turn to face him you can see that he’s already looking at you expectantly. 

“I can tell you how much to wager based on who I’m fighting. This can work.”

Your father had always said that a gamble always takes a little bit of faith. Perhaps it’s time to test that theory. And from the look in Choso’s eyes, you can tell that he’s not giving up on this idea any time soon.

“Ok. Let’s try it,” you concede, before he pulls you back down and into his arms.

——

The following day you walk to the bookie’s office alone. You both knew it would be too risky going together, so he prepped you on what to say.

“My next fight is in a week against a man named Naoya Zenin,” he instructed. “You can earn more by placing a bet on exactly when I can bring him down, so wager that it’ll be a knock out in the third round.”

Choso spends the rest of the week training in the evenings while you work at the clinic; but in that dark time between night and morning, when you take care of  the last injured fighter and lock your office door, there he is, waiting for you without fail. You walk past one of the custodians who is sweeping away scraps of betting tickets that litter the floor, while another is mopping blood off the ring. When you finally make it outside you see him standing, soldier-like, just outside the entrance.

He insists on walking you home every night. “For your safety,” he says, “Just to make sure no one is following you.” But the two of you barely make it through the door before you’re both pulling off each other’s clothes and fucking on your tiny bed, or against the kitchen counter, or over the table. 

It feels good, being fucked senseless by this man you barely know, letting all your cares and worries wash away with each climax he gives you. You’re certain he feels the same way just by the way he acts around you: protective and gentle, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. 

But you know it can’t last;  It is a transactional relationship, after all, a means to an end. You and he are both getting something out of this that the other needs, and that’s all there is to it. 

By the end of the week, the muscles in your thighs and ass are aching and you wonder if Choso’s body is just as sore from the sexual exploits. Probably not - he is an athlete in peak physical condition, after all.

He tapes up his hands as you busy yourself in your clinic. The week passed more quickly than you thought it would, and now, it’s time to see if Choso’s plan will actually work.

“Are you going to watch the fight?” he asks as he finishes wrapping his hands.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Why not?” He walks over to caress your cheek. “Are you worried I’ll get hurt?”

“No,” you reply curtly, turning away from him in an attempt to avoid his gaze. “I’ll just be busy with the fighters before you.”

”Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles as he wraps his arms around you. “Just admit you’re concerned about me.”

You want to melt into his arms, like you do every night, but your nerves are on edge. You’d wagered over half your savings on this fight, and putting this amount of trust in someone else’s abilities was something you were still getting used to. 

(Choso’s welfare was also heavy on your mind, but you weren’t about to tell him that.)

“I’m just concerned about my money, is all.”

“Both me and your money will be coming back to you safe and sound,” he assures, putting his head on your shoulder, “Just listen for the third round bell.”

When he leaves your office, you don’t look back.

There’s a heavy stream of injured fighters into your office that night, just as you thought there would be, but through the stitching and wrapping, you hear the first round bell ring for Choso’s fight.

He’ll be fine, you tell yourself. 

But as the second round starts, you’re rushing to the arena.

It looks like Naoya Zenin was able to get some hits in on Choso - a punch to his cheek and a hit to the ribs - but from the bruising on his forearms and biceps, it seems that Choso has been able to deflect most of his opponent’s attacks. Zenin, on the other hand, has a swollen eye and cheek, which you know must be messing with his depth perception. The young man barrels towards Choso, putting his arms around his chest. 

“What’s he doing?” You don’t realize that you’ve asked this out loud.

An old man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth answers. “Zenin is using a clinch against Choso, trying to slow down the action and keep him from punching. It’s a desperate move on his part.”

Zenin holds on tightly to Choso until a referee shows to break it up. Almost immediately after that, the bell rings for the end of the round.

Both fighters go to their respective corners while a bikini-clad woman walks across the ring to announce the third round.  When the bells ring again, Choso is already up and making his way toward his opponent’s corner. He punches Zenin hard in the nose and the young man stumbles back, but before he can gain composure, Choso hits him with an uppercut that brings him to the ground.

“Winner!” The referee says, taking Choso by the arm and raising it high in the air. 

A knockout in the third round, just as he’d said.

That night, after bandaging Choso’s ribs and icing his cheek, you both go to collect your first winnings.

It’s now a set routine: every week or two, you place a bet in Choso’s favor and every week he takes down another opponent. Sometimes he’s covered in blood just like he was the first time you met him; other times, it’s only a few bruises. But no matter what condition he’s in, he always comes home with you. In fact, he’s practically moved in at this point. His clothes are nestled in your chest of drawers and his toothbrush is right next to yours. It’s a strange kind of domesticity neither of you expected.

Week after week goes by, and by the third month, Choso is still undefeated. His fights are now the headliners of every match night, and wager rates soar in his favor. You still refuse to watch the fights, but you can hear the crowd cheer his name as every opponent meets the same end.

”Blood thirsty.”  “Relentless.” 

That’s what they call him.

It’s hard for you to believe they’re referring to the same man who stays with you every night; that the strong hands that just brought a man close to death are now gently cupping your breasts, or positioning your hips on top of him. He loved it when you took control and rode his face or his cock, and was always eager to please you.

You keep telling yourself that it’s the sex that always brings him back to your place every night, or that keeps him fighting for you, but when those deep, dark eyes look into yours, you know it’s more than that.

And something changes  in your heart as well; you feel empty when he’s away, or when he can’t come home with you right after a fight. Your stomach drops when an opponent gets a good hit in. 

Perhaps this isn’t  transactional for you anymore.

——

The next night, as another night of fights comes to an end, you hear the door to your office open.

“I’m closing up,” you say as you put away your instruments.

“Just here for your monthly payment,” the blue-haired man called Mahito says, leaning against the entrance to your clinic.

With a sigh, you reach up into your cabinet, take out a small bag, and throw it at his feet.

“Here you go. Now get out.”

”Tsk tsk, all these months and you still treat me so coldly. We should be friends by now.” He opens up the bag to see the bills stashed neatly inside. “Wow, another big payment. Miss Doctor. You certainly are lucky these days. Did a rich aunt die or something?” 

“You’re getting your money aren’t you? That’s all you should care about.”

Mahito smiles a toothy grin that makes your skin crawl. “But you’re also our precious employee. I’d hate to hear that you’ve gotten into more trouble.” He slinks towards you and you move backwards, hitting the edge of an examination table. He picks up a piece of your hair and lets his fingers move through it. “Maybe you’re becoming just like your father, huh?”

“Get away from her.”

Choso stands at the entrance, hands in fists and bracing to attack.

Like a child that’s suddenly interested in a new toy, Mahito turns from you and walks towards your lover. “Ha! Like a dog to a whistle! Just the person I wanted to see. Walk with me, Choso.”

The two men walk down the hall and amongst the crowd exiting the arena for the night. Of all the men that Choso has fought these past months, he’s never wanted to beat someone to a pulp more than the man next to him. Mahito is slight of build with wide, child-like expressions, but one look in his eyes and Choso knows that this bastard has killed others just for the enjoyment of it. He’d love to smash that smug face in.

“What do you want?” Choso asks coldly.

“I have a proposition for you. One that could solve all of Miss Doctor’s problems.” 

Mahito stops to see if Choso will react. When he doesn’t, he continues. “We want to set up a fight. A big one.” Mahito’s eyes glance towards the man walking beside him. “With you and Ryomen Sukuna.”

That stops Choso in his tracks. “Sukuna’s out of prison?”

“He is indeed. Seems that they couldn’t get that manslaughter conviction to stick because of some kind of legal error.” Mahito smirks devilishly. “And he’s ready for a comeback. What do you say?”

“What does this have to do with her?”

“Oh come on…you think we don’t know that you’ve been helping her place bets on your fights?” He laughs and it makes Choso’s skin crawl. “I must admit, it is rather romantic, and it’s made your popularity soar these past few months. But it’s time for both of you to remember who you really work for.”

Now outside, Mahito takes out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a long drag as if he has all the time in the world. Choso just wants this conversation to be over with.

“Do this fight, and Miss Doctor can consider her father’s debts paid in full, with our thanks.”

Choso’s instincts tell him there’s more to this plan. “What’s the catch?”

A sinister smile crawls across Mahito’s face. 

“You have to lose.”

Part 1 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

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